


(And If I Swallow Something Evil) Put Your Fingers Down My Throat

by Krystalicekitsu



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Community: spn_gabriel_sam, Crush, Fic Exchange, Homophobia, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con References, Size Kink, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:16:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/Krystalicekitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s maybe, sort of, kinda head-over-heels-can-I-have-your-baby-and-say-‘I do’ in love with Richard Speight Jr. And, well, that might be a problem. Not least of all because Richard has been avoiding him since season six started shooting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(And If I Swallow Something Evil) Put Your Fingers Down My Throat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [savorvrymoment](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=savorvrymoment).



> for [](http://savorvrymoment.livejournal.com/profile)[**savorvrymoment**](http://savorvrymoment.livejournal.com/) in the [Fic Exchange](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_gabriel_sam/51893.html) hosted at [](http://spn-gabriel-sam.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_gabriel_sam**](http://spn-gabriel-sam.livejournal.com/). There were a lot of prompts but I went with 'Richard/Jared – size difference'. :D Because that is one of my favorite tropes.

It’s a small noise that wakes him. A soft little gasp of breath that is more felt where it brushes skin against his own than it is heard.

Jared shifts, peeling back his arm and wincing at the pull of skin stuck together from a night pressed against someone else’s and with no clean-up afterwards.

His mouth tastes like the inside of a shoe (one of Jensen’s. Or so he imagines; it’s not like he goes around tasting people’s shoes or something). His second hint that something might have happened last night is the fact that his skin is sticking to someone else’s. Or would that be the first?

 _Coffee_ , he definitely needs coffee before trying to deal with this.

He shifts, pulls away, goes to get up, doing his best not to look at the person he just fucked (and if he’s _very_ lucky, it’ll just be Jensen, because they’ve done the whole ‘I didn’t know, I was drunk, it never happened’ thing before and Jensen is loads better than some of the people Jared can think of). A low groan stops him.

Except… it’s not a groan so much as it is a moan, and, oh, there’s… _That’s interesting,_ his mind says.

Except his dick is saying ‘ _Oh, hell yes_ ’. His dick which is currently buried somewhere very warm. Warm and still slightly slick.

His hips rock forward without his say-so and no warning and it’s so deliciously tight and hot. He bites down on his lip and does it again. And again and again.

It’s slow and hot and tight and he has no room to get more leverage, no room to really _thrust_ or even really draw back. Just barely enough for the slow rock that is dragging breathy moans from the body in front of him.

His breath hitches when there’s a shift before him and a clench. He keens, tries not to, tries to stop the noise, pretend like he’s just asleep, but the slow, powerful clench draws out more noises and then the body in front of him presses back and draws forward in repeat, like watching the wheels of a train picking up speed.

He revels in it, the way his cock sinks deeper and deeper with every rock forward, the way it feels like he’s being swallowed up every time he pushes in. The way the ass around him feels like it’s trying to draw him back in when he pulls away.

It feels too good, just one continuous line of pleasure, brushing against him like waves against a beach, slow and lazy, constant in a way that has always been. He’s so far gone he almost doesn’t hear the breathy ‘Jared’ that is entirely too familiar.

His split mind has two reactions; clamp a hand on Richard’s hip, get more leverage, more power to his thrusts, use the surge of lust sparked by that unusually husky voice and claim with his hips and his hands and his mouth.

Unfortunately, his body goes with the second one.

Which is the one that involves pulling quickly away and ~~hiding~~ retreating to the bathroom.

The door shuts harder than usual behind him, forced shut by his nearly collapsing back into it. He has a small moment of panic, chest heaving and he has to stop, force himself to calm down. His breathing slows down, backs away from passing out speeds and he’s now free to think about (and worry about) the lack of noise from the other side of the door. Because this? This is one of the things that could be worse than waking up with his dick in Jensen’s ass. Again.

Because Richard is the entire reason this situation existed in the first place. If Richard didn’t have that damn adorable smile, and that easy-going personality, and that seductive waist… Jared knows he’s completely gone on his co-worker. Ever since Gabriel became a regular fixture in the Winchesters' post-apocalyptic lives, he’s had to own up to a few things.

One of them being that he’s maybe, sort of, kinda head-over-heels-can-I-have-your-baby-and-say-‘I do’ in love with Richard Speight Jr. And, well, that might be a problem. Not least of all because Richard has been avoiding him since season six started shooting. And Jared can sort of guess why.

Jared was there, after all, was watching the outtakes at the con just like Richard (and the rest of the cast) and had practically a front row seat to the almost-kiss he tried to plant on Misha during the season five gag-reel, and a few other key points he may or may not have, erm, ‘gayed up’. And was possibly the only person to see Richard’s eyebrows go up and then furrow down. His expressions shut off, closed down like a bar after last call.

Richard had avoided him after that and Jared didn’t do much to try and change that. There’s no point asking for trouble he doesn’t need, is there? Which sucks, but he doesn’t need that sort of homophobic shit in his life. And if Richard can’t deal with it, then he doesn’t need to deal with Richard.

Only… he likes Richard. He’s a nice guy and funny and sweet and- Okay, no, he just needs to go out and face the music.

He finds a towel and looks at it before snagging the bathrobe on the back of the door instead. Thank god for… he glances at the soap’s label. Quality Inn soap and shampoo?

He slips the robe on and happens to glance down as he does so… Damnit.

“Shit.” He can’t go out there with a boner. That’d just make this entire thing worse. But… it’s not like he can jerk off with Richard in the next room either…

“ _Shit,_ ” he swears more emphatically. Because he still smells like sweat and sex and he can feel drying come on his stomach.

Shit damn fuck, what did he _do_ last night?!

With another curse, he strips the robe off and steps into the shower. Maybe if he doesn’t smell like a whore house, he can pretend this thing never happened.

Yeah, right.

He washes up with quick, harsh motions, stripping away the sweat and come in the chilly water, wincing at the finger-shaped bruises on his arms. Damn, he just didn’t know when to stop, did he? He stands in the shower, one hand holding the soapy, dripping washcloth and a truly horrifying thought occurs to him.

He’d just raped Richard.

He’d let his damn hormones and his crush get the better of him and he’d done something reprehensible. Something abhorrent.

He scrambles from the shower and barely makes it to the toilet before throwing up. Now he feels worse than when he woke up, the guilt making his freshly settled stomach roil and churn, the tension cranking his headache up to eleven. The pain in his body is nothing next to how he feels about himself.

He feels disgusting, lower than anything he can think of. Shit, he doesn’t deserve to share the same _air_ as Richard.

He thinks, maybe he won’t have to worry about that in a bit. He knows how the conversation outside that door is going to go. And it ends in silver bracelets.

It takes a minute before he gathers the energy to get back in the shower, stopping for a brief detour to scrub the taste and burn of vomit from his mouth, and rinse the suds out of his hair. The only way this could possibly get worse is if Misha was waiting in the next room. It’s no secret how close the two older stars of the show are.

Changing Channels stuck them both together and they’d been nigh inseparable since. Jared doesn't think there’s anything Misha won’t do for Richard. And the man has a momma-bear complex like no other. At this point though, Jared wouldn’t stop anything Misha might do to him.

He steps out, dries off. He doesn’t want to wait anymore- the faster this happens, the faster it’s over.

He wonders if the show will continue without Sam. Wonders if they’ll pull another actor in to play him, like some cheap soap. He hopes they don’t. The fans would be disappointed. Granted, the possibility the show stays on the air and _doesn’t_ get canceled is slim to none.

 _Stop stalling_ , he chastises himself. What’s done is done. He wraps the robe around himself and takes a deep breath, cinches the tie tighter and steels himself. It takes more courage and more time to open that bathroom door than the most grueling takes he’s ever done.

He doesn’t want to look when he opens the door. In fact, he does everything he can to be unthreatening. Difficult, when you’re over six foot, but doable.

He keeps his eyes off Richard, stays near the door and hunches his shoulders. Although, he was already doing that, the guilt weighing more than Atlas’ burden.

The quick glance he takes when he opens the door makes his heart sink further, although how it could go lower, he isn’t sure. Richard is sitting on the edge of the bed, sheets pooled over his hips, staring out the window. He looks dead, face pale, expression some horrible mix of shredding emotional pain and soulful despair.

Jared hates himself more than ever.

He gazes at a spot on the floor, unwilling to raise his eyes further.

“I’m sorry.”

Jared blinks.

He’s fairly sure he didn’t say those words.

Risks glancing up for a second, and sees Richard not looking at him still. He must have said it then, even if he can’t remember opening his mouth.

“I know you and Jensen, well…”

This time he does look up, because _he_ doesn't think Richard and Jensen **anything**. Richard and Jensen have the kind of relationship that exists where they don’t have one. They work well together and say ‘hi’ on set and will go out with the group for beers together after completing an episode, but they almost completely avoid each other otherwise.

Which, alright, isn’t exactly true, but they don’t hang out. They don’t _do_ stuff together.

Which means that it must not have been him speaking. Which means Richard is talking to him.

Talking and not yelling. Which is an important distinction, he thinks. Of course, he’s still _really_ , really confused.

He thinks maybe not saying anything would be best in this insta-

“I’ll just-,” Richard makes a move to get up, but the sheet doesn’t want to come with him. He jerks on it for a few seconds before Jared, still not looking anywhere near Richard, holds the smaller pair of jeans and someone’s shorts out to him.

Richard seems to sink into himself, deflate like a popped soufflé. Jared backs off again, goes to sort of huddle/sit next to the TV stand.

He can feel Richard’s gaze heavy on him and here it comes. He doesn’t bother to brace himself, doesn’t deserve to be ready or prepared or-

“Why aren’t you yelling at me?”

Jared’s head snaps up. Because that’s not a ‘wait until my lawyer hears about this’ voice or even a ‘you _sick_ **fuck** ’ voice. Richard is honestly puzzled.

“Wha-?”

“I mean, it’s not like the entire _cast and crew_ haven’t figured it out. I should have just left you _alone_ , turned Sera _down_ , just _dealt_ with it! You two are so far _gone_ on each other it’s like watching puppies in love!” Richard pauses what was promising to be a lengthy monologue to shake his head and sink back down to the bed, “I’m sorry, Jared. I really am. If there was any way-,” he shakes his head again and sighs heavily, “We don’t have to say anything to Jensen if you don’t want to.”

“I- Wait- What- Richard, what are you _talking_ about?” If Jared has to try and make sense of Richard's ramblings for much longer, he feels like his head might implode, “You think me and Jensen…?”

Richard’s expression is a jumbled mess of emotions, “You mean, you _aren’t_?”

“No!” Jared backpedals a bit, “Well, I mean, yes, sometimes, but we’re not _together_ or anything, we just- Hold on. So you don’t…” and wow, that could not be a more awkward sentence to ask someone.

“I don’t what? And 'only _sometimes_ '?” The layers and levels of emotion are dropping like flies, all except for the confusion and something soft and bright that Jared can’t identify.

“Yes, only sometimes. Just when, well, it doesn’t really matter. You don’t want to hear about it anyway.” Jared sighs. Time to own up, “I won’t stop you pressing charges. I’ll plead guilty and pay any reparations you want.”

At that, Richard stands abruptly, and Jared practices making himself look smaller and harmless again.

“WHOA. Hold on. FULL stop. _Why_ would I be pressing charges? What would I be pressing charges _for_?”

Jared can feel his jaw dropping. He knows it’s a ridiculous look on him but he can’t stop it; he’s too shocked, “What are you talking about? I-,” he winces, “- _raped_ you!”

Richard looks like a fish out of water for about two seconds. Then his lips start twitching before Jared’s eyes and not half a second later, Richard is laughing, loud and bright. The sound fills the room and makes a small part of him light up.

“Oh, god. Holy _shit_ -,” and then he’s laughing louder, slightly hysterical and too hard for breath. Jared has to fight the urge to press a hand to his shoulder and hold him up. Just because Richard is having an attack of hysteria doesn’t mean that he gets to take advantage. He’s already done enough. He’ll pay for the psychiatric visits, too.

“You- Me- Holy living _fuck_!” Richard is still laughing and Jared sighs softly, looks away.

Looks like Jared will have to be the one to take the initiative. He doesn’t care about the press, but Richard might. He’ll call his manager. Have her arrange for his surrender into police custody. Shit, this is going to be an awkward conversation.

He tugs his jeans by the pant leg across the floor to him. Fishes his phone out of the front pocket and stands up to pace before he remembers he's supposed to be small and non-threatening.

He’s got the number dialed, phone to his ear when Richard comes up in front of him and pushes the phone aside with one hand. With the other, he grips Jared’s chin and drags him down so he’s eyelevel with Richard. It’s incredibly intimate.

“I’m going to kiss you now and then we’re going to discuss what idiots we are for not sleeping with each other in the first place. And then maybe more sex. Because that was awesome,” Richard looks so serious it’s all Jared can do to nod.

Richard’s lips are to his, pressed against his before his head has had a chance to make the nod more than an upward twitch. It’s good, so good and he moans. Richard’s tongue slips inside his mouth, delicious pressure and heat and Richard tastes of spearmint gum. Jared’s grateful.

Because the worst thing right now is stopping.

Richard likes him. A _lot_. And isn’t a homophobic hyper-religious nut job. Or straight. He’s _gay_. Or bi at the very least. But he’s gay for _Jared_.

Jared feels like he could sing.

Richard growls and pulls away and Jared has a brief moment of panic- _what if he was using it as more to charge him with, what if he was joking, what if he-_ before Richard speaks, “Damnit, Padalecki- _STOP THINKING SO MUCH_.”

And kisses him again. Harder. Faster. A hand twists in his hair, tight against his scalp and he tries to stop the whine building in the back of his throat. It escapes when Richard puts teeth to his bottom lip and _tugs_.

Richard moans into his mouth and presses him back against the doorframe, sinks hands into the tie and the robe and both are suddenly gone, abandoned as Richard presses chest to thigh against him, completely naked. And it feels _so_ good.

His wrist is grabbed, a hand guided to skin and he shifts the grip, sliding his palm down and over until it settles at the small of Richard’s back, squeezing gently and pulling Richard against him.

Richard, who groans and rubs against him like a cat. The hand in his hair shifts and turns, guiding and Jared follows it instinctively, mouth and hand busy with other thoughts. A hand finds his over his phone and thumbs the power button off. It’s lost somewhere on the floor, a solid thunk of plastic.

Jared falls back into the bed. He has a chance to gasp before Richard is on him, tongue and lips and teeth trailing their way down his neck and chest. He squirms and gasps at the pleasure building, singing through his nerves. He’s so hard he _hurts_ , blinded by pleasure and it’s all he can do to keep his eyes open, determined not to miss a second of this. His hands are on Richard’s hips, settled over the bones, thumbs dipping into that seductive hollow where hip and thigh join.

Shit, he thinks he might blow his load without any contact to his dick whatsoever.

But Richard wraps two fingers around the base of him and squeezes, presses and the pain is enough to pull him back from the edge, even when the husky, “You don’t come until _I_ say, Padalecki,” brings him right back into hazy pleasure again. Hands dip and twist over his hips, the insides of his thighs all the while a quick tongue and clever mouth dance over his nipples and across his collarbone and to the hollow of his throat. Dance under his chin. Nip his pulse point. Suck just under his ear and behind his jaw.

He’s gripping his knees, ass in the air before he’s aware of it, lost in the mindless pleasure of it, of having Richard, of being _allowed_ , _expected_ to have him. Right here, like this.

A slow tug on his balls has him keening at the receding pressure.

And then gasping as a finger slips inside and brushes against something that lights sparks behind his eyes.

That voice is back, whispering throaty words under his chin, teeth pressing into his neck, “So damn big, Jared. But I’m bigger. Would you like to see?” he doesn’t wait for a response, which is good because Jared is nearly incoherent right now, “You’ll get to feel instead, how’s that? You’re so fucking tight, I bet you don’t bottom for anyone, huh?”

Which is true, so true.

“Well, you’ll bottom for me, because you’re _mine_ now. And I don’t share with anyone. Got that? You’re _mine_.”

The finger inside him is dancing, curling and swirling around, twisting and retreating before plunging back inside him and Jared can’t help it- he whines again, low and desperate.

“ _So_ tight, Jared. I just might split you open. Make you feel every thrust when I do, though.”

He gasps, and squirms, fucks himself back as another finger stretches him open.

“Richard, Richard, please. Please, Richard. Oh god, just fuck me.”

He’s so close, so damn close. So close he doesn’t notice the crinkle of foil or the second snick of the lube cap. Doesn’t notice the fingers disappearing from his ass except for the absence of that delicious pressure.

But he can’t help but notice something nudging against his ass, pressing in slowly, slick and _huge_. Not wider than himself, at least as far as he can tell, but long and curved just enough that he’s seeing stars when Richard fucks himself inside and over his prostate.

He’s stretched, so wide, so impossibly wide and- fuck. It almost hurts, he’s balanced perfectly on the knife edge, straddling ‘painful’ and ‘so good’. But Richard keeps thrusting, small jerks of his hips, working, fighting his way in.

Jared moans, throws his head back and freezes as teeth seal over his throat and bite down. Richard growls low in his throat, the vibrations humming and tickling along Jared's neck and through his chest, and sinks- finally- to the hilt.

He’s so full, so fucking full, he thinks he could come like this, just Richard over him, buried so impossibly deep in him, stretching him so wide. He’s gasping, harsh little drags of breath that catch in the back of his throat as Richard shifts, pulls out and away before shoving back in.

“You like that? Like me in you?” Richard sounds like he’s been smoking, voice low and possessive and Jared shouts out when he leans over, shoulders pressing Jared’s knees nearly to his chest. Holy shit, he sinks fucking _deeper_.

“Told you I was bigger, didn’t I? Said I’d make you _feel_ it,” he punctuates his statement with a forceful thrust, and Jared lets go of his own knees to clamp hands to Richard's ass, silently begging him deeper, more, fuller.

Richard doesn’t disappoint, setting a hard pace, thrusting as deep as he can, making Jared take it. He’s never felt this full, this stretched, but the twinge has long since succumbed to mind-numbing pleasure.

He’s getting _fucked_ , well and truly fucked.

Damn, maybe this is why Jensen never complains about being on the bottom. It’s fucking amazing.

Every forward thrust has Richard's cock running over his prostate, and then the jolt of him burying so far in sends sparks up his balls and echoing through his dick. He's writhing and moaning, begging like he needs it more than air and he would be embarrassed (Richard was right, he was so right- Jared doesn't bottom for _anybody_ and the wanton cries spilling from his lips are dripping with desperation) but he has no sense of time, and definitely no thoughts when Richard wraps a hand around him and starts to pump.

Richard doesn't try and drag it out, doesn't go slow and teasing. He's sharp and possessive and definitely not what Jared was expecting, but don't ask Jared what he was expecting. The braincells needed for a response- any response- are lost to him when Richard adds a twist to his wrist and drags blunt nails over Jared's chest.

A nail catches on the edge of a nipple at the same time Richard palms around the head of his cock and slides over his prostate one last time-

Jared's gone. So fucking gone.

He has barely enough consciousness to register the feeling of his toes curling, his legs locking up, muscles spasming and cording. Feeling himself tightening around Richard's dick buried in him and Richard's shout.

It's a long time before he comes back to himself enough to register what's going on around him. When he does, he is comforted by the harsh gasping breaths Richard is trying to recover beside him, the deep ache that's just managing to make itself known in his ass and up his low spine. He stares at the ceiling, wanting to say a hundred different things, do a thousand more.

"Oh," he breathes.

Richard doesn't say anything from his place to Jared's left and yet the weight between them doesn't feel heavy and stifling. It feels weirdly… _something_. Something settled and, and old. Familiar.

God, it feels good.

Richard huffs a breath of laughter beside him and then there's a hand brushing over his wrist, soft and warm and damp with sweat.

 _No, wait. Just a little longer like this. Just a little bit longer. I don’t want to talk, don’t want to know._

"What… what did- did you want to- ask me a- bout?" Richard's voice… god, that voice. He could listen to that voice all day.

"I… I thought…," he's glad that's all he can say. Takes the opportunity of aching lungs and desperate breaths to pause, hide himself again.

"What?" He feels a shift, sees Richard's head turn to face him from the corner of his eye.

"I thought you were- were some kind of- of homophobic bastard. Or something," he chokes out.

Richard's arm slides under his head and pulls him over the same time a hand rolls him towards Richard, into Richard and his nearly crushing embrace.

Jared doesn't move, allows himself to be held. The comfortable feeling is back, followed by a bright hot flare of hope slivered away in his chest.

Richard noses into his hair.

"Will you have dinner with me?"


End file.
